


Respite Such as This

by Ballades



Series: Untold Stories of Thedas [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Grey Wardens, M/M, Mabari, Taka Trevelyan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 22:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballades/pseuds/Ballades
Summary: The hill; a sunset; quiet, solemn joy.Carver, Taka, and a fleeting moment of peace.





	Respite Such as This

Carver is unsure how he has missed the place, but he has. He and Taka have spent ten years wandering the Free Marches, taking the southern road hugging the Vimmarks multiple times a year, and he knows every dip and rise of the land. Except, somehow, for this lonely hill that emerges like an afterthought from the spine of mountains, home to a single leaning tree and a few clumps of scrubby wildflowers. A conceit, Taka would say, to think one could know the earth the way one knows a longtime lover.

There are reasons to overlook it; Carver figures that’s why his eyes have passed it time and time again. It is a poor place to camp, being so exposed. Their campfire would be visible from every direction. Although attackers would have to charge up the slope it would be clear to all that only two men occupy the top. And then there isn’t much shelter from the elements, the tree having not even a low branch grown level enough for Carver to drape his oilcloth over.

But that’s what they’re doing tonight as the winter sun slides down in the west and late afternoon relaxes into early evening. Carver does all the work, making Taka sit with Neeps as he bustles around, caring for the horses, rigging the tent, setting out rations, wolfing down his share. Taka’s too tired to help or complain about not helping, and it’s a testament to his exhaustion that he says nothing when Neeps climbs into his lap, tracking dirt over his breeches.

“Neeps,” Carver calls softly. “Here, girl.”

Neeps comes over, obedient. Taka has his eyes closed, his chin drooping towards his chest, and in the weakening light Carver can see the broadening wings of gray at his partner’s temples.

“Just as well that my time is near,” Taka had sighed after Carver thumbed those wings, feeling hair smoother than silk. “Can you imagine me as a frail old man? You can’t.”

Carver can’t imagine Taka as anything but his current self, but the thought of spending the years together always lies dagger-close to his heart. They have to make the most of what short time they have left, whether it be months or weeks, so there is hardly any justification for respite such as this: the hill; a sunset; quiet, solemn joy.

He needs it. They both need it, though in terms of brutal honesty Carver needs it more. Things fade in and out of Taka’s mind like the winking of fireflies, though Taka has sworn, with a kiss on each of Carver’s cheeks, that he will never forget how he loves Carver. Tomorrow Taka may not remember the hill or the sunset, or the conversation about it, or the task they’ve undertaken, or even where he is. It’s up to Carver to remind him, to speak with a gentility that borders on brittleness. Carver is gentle with Taka but is also gentle with himself, because if he isn't he will break himself upon his sorrow.

Carver arranges his cloak for Neeps and pets her briefly after she’s turned in a circle several times and settled down. He then goes to Taka, the sere grass enlivening with sound with every footstep, and sits down beside him.

“You hungry?” Carver asks.

“Not really,” Taka replies.

Carver had been starving after a day on the road, though their pace was slower to accommodate Neeps. “All right,” he says despite the worry. Taka’s appetite is waning as surely as the rest of him, and the Taint sustains him more and more with each passing day. “I got you something in case you are, though.”

Taka hums, then shifts so he can give Carver some weight. Carver wraps his arm around Taka, pulling him in closer, frowning when Taka lets his head loll against Carver’s shoulder. “Taka?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice just above a whisper. “You wanted to watch the sun set, so let’s do that.”

Carver nestles his mouth against Taka’s hair, sighs when Taka’s hand finds his. Taka toys idly with the signet ring adorning the last finger of Carver’s left hand, the pad of his thumb stroking over the Trevelyan sigil.

Taka hums again. “This was mine, you know.”

It takes a moment before Carver can answer. He watches the sky fracture sunlight instead, pinks and reds and oranges catching the clouds on fire. “You weren’t using it.”

“You’re right. Looks better on you anyhow. Like it belongs.”

 _As I belong to you,_ Carver almost says. Taka hates sentimentality; it makes him uncomfortable, and so does the idea of possession.

“As I belong to you,” Carver says, because possession is something that is taken, and Carver has given himself freely. Besides, needling Taka is fun.

“Ugh,” Taka responds, as expected. “You lamb. You disgustingly treacly lamb.”

“You could just say sweet boy,” Carver suggests, smiling.

“Well now that you’ve said it, I won’t.”

Carver rolls his eyes. “You’ve ruined the moment.”

“You already ruined it by being a disgustingly treacly lamb.”

“You like it.”

“I do _not._ ” There’s some of Taka’s spirit. He sits up, offended. Carver can see the retort on his lips.

He kisses Taka, the words dissipating like smoke waved away from a blown out candle. Carver kisses Taka with his heart surging within him, one hand behind Taka’s head, pressing their mouths so closely together that both time and thought stop, stunned. Carver kisses Taka like he’s the love of a lifetime, like they’re a fairy tale, because on this hill, beneath these skies, under this sun, they might as well be. Carver kisses Taka like there is nothing before him and nothing after him.

He hopes once they part, astounded and trembling, that Taka will remember this in the morning.


End file.
